


Sinew and Bones

by Spineless



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Broken Bones, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-23
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-11-19 07:46:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spineless/pseuds/Spineless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin flies through the air and time slows. When time speeds up again, he hits the ground with a sickening crunch and a blinding pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There's one moment, one split second before his body comes in contact with the frozen ground, where time seems to stand still. The din of battle sounds miles away, and Merlin feels like he is able reflect. However, only one notion makes itself known in his swirling mess of thoughts, and that is simply,  _fuck_  destiny.

And then time resumes it's semi-normal, wobbly path and he absolutely  _slams_  into compact––dirt? no, more like stone––and he hears the quite audible 'crack' or  _something_  snapping. His flailing limbs do little to still his momentum and he flips head over heels, landing with a final wheeze partially covered by a thicket of bushes.

The air is absolutely stolen from his lungs and Merlin is having a difficult time regaining it. He gasps like a fish out of water, his vision mottled over with shades of blue and black and gray. _No, no, no unconsciousness,_ he wills himself.  _You still need to make sure that Arthur is in once piece_. But  _gods almighty_ , his head hurts, and the pain in his wrist is so strong it's making him physically ill. It feels like the ground is sucking him downward, and he feels a faint pull, like he's actually being swallowed by th––

" _Oi! Merlin_?"

If he could, he would have sighed.

"Merlin?" Goodness, is that––concern? in the prince's voice? No, no. Impossible. "Merlin, for gods'  _sake_." The quickening of footsteps. Merlin fears that he will succumb to the pull of unconsciousness if he turns his head to look.

Arthur appears in his clearing vision, overhead. "You alive, then?"

"Seems to be, thanks." His voice cracks.

"The magician got away."

Ah, too bad. "Sorry."

Arthur just sighs, running a hand through his hair. He surveys the forest, hands on hips, before turning back to Merlin. "You're just gonna lay there, then?"

"Dunno if I can stand, if I'm honest."

Exaggerated eyeroll. Prat. See how he likes it.

"You're such a  _girl,_ Merlin!" Two arms are heaving him up before Merlin can protest, depositing him on uncertain feet. He cradles his surely-broken wrist close to his chest and sways slightly. "Arthur?"

His own voice sounds strange, like he's farther away than he actually it. But that's impossible, you can't be far away from your own voice.

Whatever the case, Arthur isn't paying attention; his back is turned and he appears to be marching back to a clearing of trees, where the ambush started.

Lightheadedness overtakes Merlin, a feeling he's somewhat acquainted with, the outcome of being overworked and underfed.  _Please don't pass out,_ he begs. _Pleasedon'tpassoutpleasedon'tpassoutpleasedon'tpassout_.

For a reason beyond him, he decided to takes a step forward. Stomach churning, he calls out again. "Arthur!"

i'm gonna be sick i'm gonna be sick i'm gonna die in these woods i'm gonna be sick i'm sorry Kilgharrah and Gaius and the druids and gods i'm gonna be sick

The prince turns around with an excessive sigh. His lips start to move but words don't ever reach Merlin's ears because he feels the world tilt violently underneath him and the ground is rushing to meet his aching head and he thinks he might hear Arthur call him name, but he can't be sure because he succumbs to unconsciousness.

Everything is easier when you're asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin flies through the air and time slows. When time speeds up again, he hits the ground with a sickening crunch and a blinding pain.

Consciousness makes it self known at an unspecific moment in time, but once Merlin is aware of the fact that he is awake, his sleeping state is too far away to be summoned once more. Without opening his eyes, he can tell he's still on the ground, feeling smell pebbles gently nudge themselves against his aching back and cold seep through his shirt. He hears a tearing sound nearby. He lets his mind clear from extremely foggy to slightly less foggy than before prior to opening his eyes.

Above him are trees, or what he interprets as trees––slender black fingers that spiderweb across a pale background. Which isn't surprising seeing as they're––hunting? No, not hunting. He struggles to remember.

Ground, trees. . . magic? No, no. Ground. Ground especially. Ouch.

Oh,  _ouch._

Merlin hoarsely gasps upon the realization of  _pain_. A drumming in his head that seems to stem from his very brain, aches all over and an immense throbbing in his left arm. It doesn't feel as if it is on fire, per se, burns are a very particular kind of pain, one that is consistent and _hot,_ no, this is not a flaming sort of pain. It feels like whatever it is that keeps him together has sundered.

The sound of tearing stops suddenly. "Merlin?" A familiar voice.

With some amount of effort, Merlin turns his head to the side, making his world momentarily spin. When it stills, he is staring into the very concerned eyes of his prince. Ah.

"Hello." He manages to keep his voice even.

Arthur just shakes his head. "Merlin, you never cease to amaze me."

Internal groan. "Can we not do this right now."

The sound resumes. Arthur is cutting up what seems to be some poor sod's extra shirt into strips with his hunting knife. He spies a thin plank of wood next to a small pile of fabric strips. "What––What are you doing?"

Arthur rolls his eyes heavily. "Well, seeing as you went and got your arm broken––brillaint job, by the way!––you can't exactly go riding back to Camelot in that state. You'd never shut up. I'd never hear the end of it. Ohhh, Arthur, my arm hurts!"

"I don't sound like that."

Arthur shoots him a pointed look. "Now is not the time to argue with the man fixing you a splint."

Merlin's turn to roll his eyes. "Terribly sorry  _Your Highness_. But what, pray tell, did you expect me to do?"

"Well, not stick your arms out, that's for sure, I mean, did you really expect that to work? Honestly Merlin, don't you know how to fall?"

"There's a proper way to fall?"

Another look. "Yes, in fact, several! Ones that avoid snapping the bones in your wrist."

"Well, I s'pose you'll just have to teach me, then."

"Yes, I suppose I'll just have to." He brightens. "I'll get to knock you off things."

External groan. "Joy."

"Oh, don't be so down. What's a few bruises if you get to avoid breaking another limb?"

"You're making it sound like is my fault."

"Well, I  _said_  'duck'––"

"' _Duck'_  doesn't count when someone is  _already_  in the air––are––are you  _laughing_?"

Arthur's shoulders shake with constrained laughter. He grins, shaking his head.  _Merlin, Merlin, Merlin_. "I suppose I should thank you for distracting the magician long enough to get rid of it's bodyguards."

"Oh, you know, what's a broken wrist for the safety of a prince?"

"I mean it, you know."

"As do I. I'd do anything for you, Arthur, I had hoped you already knew that."

Touched, Arthur looked into his lap. He swallowed, "Thank you, Merlin," and finished cutting strips of fabric.

Merlin mercifully changed the subject. "Which of your poor knights did you bully a shirt from?"

"None. This is, well,  _was_  my extra shirt. I'm binding your wound with royal cloth. You better feel important."

"Oh, how you ravish me, Prince Arthur."

The grin that finds itself on Arthur's face slowly recedes as he gathers up the cloth strips. "I need to splint your wrist. I'll. . . I'll try to be gentle. You break anything else?"

Merlin exhaled. "No, just knocked my head a bit. How––How do you knights handle it? Getting bumped and banged around and stabbed at all the time. Even this stupid thing hurts like––like, I don't know. It's not very pleasant, to say the least."

"Well, of course it hurts."

"What's the trick, then?"

"The trick is not minding that it hurts."

Merlin makes a face. "What sort of half-assed advice is that?"

"Shut up, Merlin." Just. Try not to scream.

Arthur loosely takes Merlin's wrist in his grasp, already prompting the utterance of a sound of protest. Ignoring it, he continues, placing the plank against against the underside of Merlin's swollen forearm. He, then, takes a strip of the aforementioned "royal cloth", wrapping it taut, overlapping one after another until he pulls especially tight on one piece halfway through. Merlin cries out in pain.

Arthur winces. "Look, I'm sorry, but..."

"No, it's fine, just hurry up, would you?" The pounding in his head has increased tenfold.

Arthur obliges. By the time he's done, Merlin is pinched and pale, eyes having slid closed. Arthur fears his manservant has passed out again, until a weak, "Can we go home now?" passes his lips.

"Do you think you can stand?"

"Only if you're around to catch me if I swoon."

Shaking his head (again), Arthur helps Merlin carefully to his feet. The latter sways for a moment before taking a few shaky steps forward. Arthur guides him steadily and assists him climbing onto his horse.

"You alright, then?"

Merlin grips the reins in his right hand. "How far is Camelot again?"

"Couple of hours."

"Let's get a move on, then."

By the time the party reaches Camelot, the sun is fading, and so is Merlin. He doesn't respond to Arthur's callings at first, looking around with a confused "Hm?" He nearly falls when he dismounts his horse, but before he can, Arthur is there, arm on his back, holding him up.

"Let's get you to Gaius," he says in his ear.

"What? No, I must––you haven't eaten all day––"

"Neither have you, remember? I'm quite capable of getting my own dinner, Merlin."

"But I need... to tidy up, and build a fire, and draw you a bath, polish your armor––"

"Merlin, look at me." The two stop in the middle of the courtyard, the last rays of sunlight stretching shadows. "I don't want to see you in my chambers, doing any chores until you're healed. Is that understood?"

Merlin looks anywhere but Arthur. He fidgets, clearly agitated.

"I  _said_ , is that understood?"

"Yes, sire."

"Good. Let's get you to Gaius."

They go through the castle and Merlin almost makes it.

The two get a staircase and a hallway from the court physician's chambers and then Merlin stops suddenly and Arthur wills him to be alright, but a broken arm and bad concussion and cold and fatigue are too much and

"Arthur? Arthur?" and

"I'm here, Merlin, what is it?" and

"I can't see."

Merlin folds in on himself, almost collapsing to the ground but Arthur catches him, shaking his shoulder, "Merlin, wake up, we're almost there." But there's no answer and Arthur just sighs, one arm around his shoulder the other under his knees and he hoists Merlin up, carrying him the final leg of the journey.

He knocks harshly on the heavy door and Gaius answers almost immediately like he knew that something was wrong, surprise betraying him only in his eyes, but he leads them into the room, gesturing to the bed in the centre and asks, "What happened?"

"We were attacked by a magician and what appeared to be mercenaries. The magician hit Merlin with some sort of magic attack and he fell on his arm. Hit his head, too he's got a nasty concussion. I splinted his wrist as best I could."

Gaius gets to work, rolling up his sleeves and cutting away the carefully constructed splint and Arthur just stands there, not sure what to do.

Gaius looks up. "You should get washed up, sire, and let your––the king know about the magician."

"Oh––I––yes, of course. Thank you, Gaius. Do you, ah, will you be needing any help?"

Gaius's eyes soften. "No, thank you, sire, broken bones are not an uncommon occurrence. I've treated you and your knights enough times."

"Oh. Of course. Right. I'll be going then." He turns and stars toward the door but then "Sire?"

"Yes?" Too eager.

"Thank you for bringing him back."

A slight smile. "Of course, Gaius. Make sure he gets better."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback is much appreciated.


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